


Kaleidoscope

by hollyhawke, leatherandlightning (floatawaysomedays)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Everyone Is Poly Because Avengers, F/M, Multi, Polyamory Negotiations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-18
Updated: 2014-11-18
Packaged: 2018-02-25 06:39:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2612027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollyhawke/pseuds/hollyhawke, https://archiveofourown.org/users/floatawaysomedays/pseuds/leatherandlightning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once Steve is out of the hospital, he, Sam, and Nat need to find their boys; Bucky is in the wind, and Clint was out of the country when SHIELD fell and probably needs to be rescued. Bucky turns up, and then Natasha with Clint and Lucky in tow, and suddenly Sam Wilson has an apartment full of superheroes, plus a dog.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kaleidoscope

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for the Steve/Bucky Big Bang. We'd like to thank our fabulous beta reader, Madi, an our artist, Fan, who created beautiful artwork to go with this fic, which can be found here.
> 
> There are no major warnings for this fic; we set out to write post-TWS hurt/comfort, and it ended up quite fluffy. There is some light discussion of Bucky's PTSD, but it's not explored in depth.

Sam’s there when he wakes up in the hospital, but no one else is. Sam says it’s been two days since the Winter Soldier fished him out of the Potomac. Even with his accelerated healing, he’s looking at at least another week in the hospital; it’s only been a few days, but he’s already anxious to leave. Sam, on the other hand, doesn’t look ruffled at all.

“Sam,” Steve asks as he polishes off his jell-o. “I know you said Nat’s busy, but where’s she been?” He doesn’t say that he’s worried about her. He figures he doesn’t have to.

Sam gives him a look, and says, “She texted me this morning and told me she’s working on an extraction for Hawkeye, who was on a mission, I guess. She’s fine, Steve. She’s been busy fielding the press.”

“The press?” Steve asks, raising his eyebrows.

Sam winces. “Yeah,” he says. “As you can imagine, blowing up a major building in DC tends to draw some attention. She’s been working with Pepper Potts to mitigate the damage…. and try to salvage the Avengers’ PR.”

“Great,” says Steve, groaning. “On top of everything else, I’ve managed to completely ruin the Avengers’ good image.”

Sam laughs. “I’m sure it’ll be fine,” he says. “Pepper’s the most terrifyingly competent person I’ve ever met, and Tasha’s no slouch. Besides, up until a few days ago you were America’s favorite Boy Scout.”

“I was never a Boy Scout,” Steve protests, but Sam just shrugs.

 

At first opportunity, Steve texts Natasha at the new number she’d left with Sam. By the time he gets out of the hospital, she’s already out of the country, presumably chasing after Clint, but she never skimps on cell coverage, so he figures she’ll get it anyways.

“Hey, Nat. Hope you’re well. Hate to ask, but wondering if you can do me a favor.”

She responds quickly.

“What?” is all the message says.

Steve texts back, “I need the Winter Soldier’s file.”

There’s a long pause before his phone vibrates again, but the incoming message says, “Sure thing. Take care of yourself, Steve,” with a smiley face attached to the end of it.

When Steve gets out of the hospital, he and Sam have to figure out where they’re going. They can’t really go back to Steve’s place, seeing as it’s a crime scene and all, and it takes Sam about two seconds to offer his own.

“I can’t take you up on that, Sam,” says Steve for the fifth time. “It’s a really nice offer, but it’s okay, I’ll just -”

“Go where?” Sam demands with his hands on his hips. “Last time you stayed at my place, everyone you know was trying to kill you, so forgive me if I make a flash judgment that you don’t have great friends.”

“Natasha’s a great friend,” argues Seve, but it’s beside the point since she’s nowhere near and he actually has no idea where she lives.

“I could go to Stark Tower?” he suggests next, and Sam just laughs.

“Do you want to go to Stark Tower?” he asks pointedly, and Steve sighs and is forced to admit that he really doesn’t.

“So move in with me, “ Sam says. “I’ve got a guest room and plenty of OJ for everyone, for all two of us. It’ll be great.”

“Only if you stop drinking your OJ out of the damn carton,” Steve retorts.

 

Steve moves into Sam’s place, seeing as his own is somewhat trashed. He’s under strict doctors’ orders to not do anything strenuous for at least another week, so he figures the best way he can spend that time is gathering intel on the Winter Soldier.

He knows better than to rush Natasha, so instead he bugs Tony, and for his trouble, he ends up being asked to provide a statement on the incident.

“I think I can get you out of an interview,” Pepper tells him on the phone that afternoon, “since you’ve been in the hospital and are still recovering - scratch that, I know I can get you out of an interview, because that would be bullshit - but Natasha’s appearance on Capitol Hill wasn’t really enough, since the world knows that you were at the center of it all. I mean, being a fugitive from SHIELD tends to lead to people asking questions. And they want to hear the answers from you.”

“Wait,” says Steve, “hold up a second. Natasha spoke at the capitol? No one told me that.”

“She answered questions before all the big, important politicians,” says Pepper. “They threatened to arrest her, and her response - well, I’ll have JARVIS send you the footage. It was great. But a statement from you would really help on my end.” She sounds apologetic. “Sorry, Steve. I know you’ve got a lot of other things to do, but it would really help.” She pauses. 

“No, that’s okay,” Steve reassures her. “It’s important. Um, I’ll come up with something, I guess.”

“Thanks,” says Pepper warmly. “Also, I have JARVIS running a comprehensive search for information on the Winter Soldier in every database he can access. I’ll have him send it over when it’s done.”

“Thanks, Pepper,” says Steve, feeling a warm rush of gratitude.

 

Steve gets a text from Natasha near the end of his week of enforced rest, at about three in the morning.

“Back in the country, with Clint in tow. He’s fine - minor injuries, nothing that won’t heal.”

“Glad to hear it,” Steve texts back.

“We’re going to lay low for a while. C u tomorrow?”

Steve can’t really blame her for wanting to disappear a little after dealing with the media fallout. He texts back, “yeah. Good night. Morning?”

A few minutes later, his phone vibrates again and the message reads, “shut up, Rogers. :)”

 

 

After a week’s worth of looking for leads, any leads, on Bucky’s whereabouts, Sam and Steve have a whole lot of nothing.

“You know, Steve,” says Sam, closing his laptop, “I’m not sure he wants to be found.”

“I’m not sure either,” admits Steve. “But I feel like I have to try. I just… I mean, there are still remnants of HYDRA out there, and he was injured -” (“I injured him”) “- and…” he trails off, sighing. “I don’t know. I can’t just go back to living my life knowing that he’s still out there.”

“Yeah, I hear you,” says Sam.

They end up heading out the next morning to check out a DC suburb where JARVIS had turned up some security footage of what looked like a metal arm, but an entire morning of making inquiries leads to absolutely nothing, just like every other morning that week.

 

Natasha and Clint are holed up in a cabin in upstate New York, so that Clint can stay off of his sprained ankle and Natasha can sort out her covers and maybe some of her new identity, too. She’d told Sam and Steve she was going off the grid, but she finds it hard to resist doing a little digging of her own.

“I thought you told Sam and Steve you were going off grid. This is not what a vacation looks like, Natasha.” Clint has come up behind her, clutching a mug of coffee in one hand and with the other perched on his hip. He raises an eyebrow at her, and she shrugs.

“Those two are chasing their tails,” she says. She’s standing in front of a map of the eastern seaboard that’s spattered with little red pins. “I’ve got a hunch, and it’s that he’s still in the area. He’ll be sticking to familiar places.”

“So it’s your idea of a vacation to go poking around known HYDRA safehouses?” Clint asks, raising both of his eyebrows. “Count me in.”

Nat shakes her head. “Not this one,” she says, shooting a pointed look at his ankle. That just makes him sulk, so she adds, “I know you’ve got a thing for bringing in strays, but trust me on this one. He’s not like I was, Clint. And anyways, I’m not gonna bring him in.”

“So, what are you gonna do?”

 

Finding Bucky is easier than she expects. Sneaking up on him, not so much.

She finds him in the third HYDRA safehouse she checks, in a suburb outside of New York City. About what she had expected. She can only tell he’s been there because of the recent dusting the place has had, and a few wrappers in the garbage, but her instincts aren’t wrong; she stakes the place out and sure enough, hours later, sees him enter the building.

She’s right behind him. She doesn’t want him to attempt to kill her on sight, so she isn’t truly that sneaky; he knows she’s there very shortly after she enters the building, so when she steps into what could pass as the living room, he doesn’t seem surprised to see her.

“Barnes,” she says shortly. He nods in greeting, which is frankly friendlier than she’d hoped he would be.

“What do you want?” he asks, getting straight to the point. Natasha smiles at him crookedly. 

“Your boys are looking for you,” she says. “Sam and Steve.”

“Sam?” Bucky asks, frowning at her.

“The one with the wings,” she says, reassured when she can see the recognition on his face. “Anyways, thought you might appreciate a heads up.”

Bucky narrows his eyes suspiciously. “Well, I guess they won’t have to look very hard. Unless you’re planning on giving me a head start.”

“I’m not gonna tell them where you are,” Natasha tells him.

“Why?” he asks.

She shrugs. “I’ve been in a position of not wanting to be found. Do you want me to tell them?”

Bucky opens his mouth then closes it again. He looks lost.

“Never mind,” says Natasha. “You hesitated. I’m not telling them.”

Bucky shakes his head, not meeting her eyes.

Natasha slips him a piece of paper. “I will tell you how to find them. That has my info on it, too. Better buy an address book.” She pauses, studying him. “Do you want me to tell Steve that you’re safe?”

Bucky nods. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah.”

“Will do.” She salutes him flippantly, then she’s gone.

 

“What do you mean, he’s safe?” Steve demands the next morning over his bowl of soggy cereal. Natasha sips her orange juice nonchalantly, refusing to be ruffled.

“Exactly what I said, Steve,” she says coolly. “He’s safe. I found him. He’s not ready to see you. I told him how to find you and he will when he’s ready, and not one minute sooner.”

Steve opens and closes his mouth several times in quick succession, then gives up and takes another spoonful of cereal, staring at it mournfully.

She pats him on the shoulder. “Cheer up,” she says. “At least he’s not trying to kill us anymore. He’ll come around.”

 

Bucky finds Sam in the grocery store a few days later, and it’s all Sam can do to not jump out of his skin when Bucky more or less materializes next to him. To be fair, the last time they’d met had been pretty violent.

“You’re Sam, right?” Bucky asks nonchalantly, inspecting a peach. He’s carrying a basket, and it even has stuff in it - milk, a loaf of bread, a block of cheese, as far as Sam can see. Sam wonders how he’s paying for it, but thinks better of asking.

“Sam Wilson, at your service,” he says cheerfully. He hopes he’s a better actor than the casting director of his fifth grade play seemed to think, because this is totally weird and he’s trying not to act like it is anything out of the ordinary.

He seems to pass, because Bucky only side-eyes him for a minute before saying, “Look, can you tell Steve something for me?” He blurts it out as though he’s not entirely comfortable asking.

“Sure,” says Sam, hoping he’s not about to regret agreeing to this.

“I know I told the Widow - Natasha - this the other day, but. Can you tell him I’m safe? I’m not… I’m okay, I mean, I’m not violent, and I will come find him. I will. I’m just not… I can’t right now.”

Sam nods. This he can deal with. “Sure thing,” he says.

“Just,” Bucky adds, struggling for words. “Make sure he knows, okay? It’s not him, or anything he did,” he laughs humorlessly. “He’ll blame himself. I just need some time.”

“I get it,” Sam assures him. “I’ll make sure he knows. And when you’re ready, you’ve got a place with us, if you want it.”

“Thanks,” says Bucky, and then he walks off to inspect some apples.

 

Later that afternoon, Sam starts combing through the online ads in search of a three bedroom.

“Are you sure?” Steve asks, running his hands through his hair anxiously. “Seriously, Sam, you don’t have to move, I can look for another place, this is a huge inconvenience -”

Sam shrugs. “Steve,” he says, “I know I don’t have to do this. I wouldn’t if I didn’t want to. But I’ve been looking for an excuse to get out of this apartment for ages - seriously, have you seen the size of the spiders in this place? - and it’d be nice not to live alone for a change. Maybe we can get a cat, even.”

“Wow, a cat,” Steve deadpans. “You drive a real bargain.”

 

Sam gets right on the apartment scouting, and he’s great at it. Steve has virtually no idea how to navigate finding a place to live in DC in the twenty first century - SHIELD took care of that for him, the last time he needed a place - but Sam is a pro and it’s only a matter of time until they have a few places lined up to look at.

“This is ridiculous,” Steve tells him one afternoon after they’ve toured several new apartments. “Rent is absurd, that’s practically thievery for a place that doesn’t even have a dishwasher.”

That bit hadn’t been listed in the advertisement. Sam grimances. “Looking for a place to live is the fucking worst,” he says, “but look, it’ll be totally worth it. There are some really nice places to live, you just have to… walk through places without a dishwasher until you find them.”

It’s late one night when Steve is eating days old take out and poring over surveillance footage that Sam shouts at him, “Steve! Come look at this. I think I’ve got it.”

The pictures he shows Steve are of a cute three bedroom place, not that far from where they live now, and with a nice view to boot. It’s new, no one’s ever lived there, and it has, as Sam says, their names all over it.

“You like it?” he asks Steve eagerly.

Steve surprises himself by saying, “Yeah. Yeah, I do.” It’s the first place they’ve looked at that he could honestly see himself living in. It seems nice - like it has the potential to be cozy, with a few people living in it and some clutter. He tries not to think of what it would be like to see Bucky lounging in that living room, and swallows hard.

Sam grins at him. “I’ll call the realtor tomorrow,” he promises.

 

Sam leaves a message with the realtor about the new place. The pictures were great, but Sam wants a walk-through. 

Two days later, over grilled cheese, Natasha asks if they’ve decided on a new place. When Sam brings it up, Steve and Natasha glance at each other . 

“It’s empty right?” Natasha asks. 

“Brand new place.”

Natasha nods and wipes her hands. “Let’s go.”

They break into the apartment. 

If you could call it ‘breaking in’. It’s not like they break anything. One minute the door is locked and the next it’s not. 

Sam makes a mental note not to bother giving anybody keys. 

The space is open and bright in the afternoon sun. Steve is immediately drawn to the windows in the empty living area. It’s a great view, part of the reason Sam liked this place so much. 

Natasha has wandered her way into the kitchen and seems to be eyeing the space with careful consideration. 

“Steve doesn’t cook.”

“Don’t I know it.” Sam sighs. Steve’s cooking is focused on beans and soup. Ask him to heat soup up, and you’re golden, but super soldiers can’t survive on beans and soup alone. They’ve come to an agreement. Sam cooks, Steve takes over laundry. It’s working well so far.

Natasha opens the cabinets and the pantry, makes plenty of noise. “How is he.” 

Sam glances over his shoulder and finds Steve making his way out to the patio. “Healing.”

Natasha shakes her head. They both know that wasn’t what she meant. 

Sam thinks over the last few days and shrugs. It’s hard to pinpoint Steve, sometimes, but there is one thing that’s becoming very obvious. “Frustrated.” 

“Barnes hasn’t been to see him.”

“No.”

She opens one of the drawers next to the stove and makes a face when it gets stuck halfway. Sam bites back a smile. “He’s not ready.”

Sam doesn’t know who she’s talking about, but he thinks it goes both ways. Bucky isn’t ready to see Steve yet for his own reasons, and Steve, for all of his digging for intel, sure as hell isn’t ready to see Bucky again. 

“We’re so out of my paygrade I can’t even see it from here.”

Natasha gives him a look. “I think you’re doing okay.”

“I’ll put that on my resume. ‘Widow think’s I’m a-okay’.”

Steve comes back in, and they check out the rest of the space. Two of the bedrooms are set off to the right of the living area, and there’s a bathroom across the way. They’re empty, but something about the placement of the rooms makes Natasha grin wickedly. 

“What?”

“Nothing.” She insists, but now she’s snickering and Steve isn’t going to let it go. He elbows her playfully. Natasha lets him, but she reaches up to ruffle his hair and digs in with her knuckles a little bit. Steve laughs, and grabs at her. Sam stops his trek to check out the master bed and bath to watch them. It’s like watching two tigers play fighting; adorable, and completely terrifying at the same time.

“Sam has obviously decided he’s the papa bear to two super soldier children.” She jerks her thumb behind her, not even slightly out of breath. “Kids rooms.”

Sam holds his hands up in clear surrender. “Hey, now-”

Steve’s smile is wobbly, damn near hopeful, when he turns to face Sam. “You think he’ll stay?”

Sam doesn’t know. After DC, Sam wants to put his head in his hands for at least a year. This seems like a nice enough place to do it. It’s quiet and calm and peaceful. There’s natural light streaming in through the windows, and the walls are eggshell or cream or some variation of white that makes Sam feel almost at ease. 

“At least now we’d have enough room to offer.” 

 

They set up a move in date and then, all that’s left to do, as Sam says, is pack. Steve had thought looking for a place to live was shitty, but he had underestimated the packing part.

 

Steve has a few boxes worth of belongings, some of which they have to go retrieve from his old place, but mostly, packing for him doesn’t take that long. He’s accumulated some stuff in the few years he’s been off ice, but it’s still less than most people would take with them when moving. They spend an afternoon clearing out his old apartment and packing up. Steve puts on some of his favorite records and really, the afternoon goes by quickly. They load the boxes up into Sam’s little car, and Steve’s overall pretty happy to bid that place goodbye.

Packing up Sam is another matter entirely. Sam’s been living in his current place for longer than Steve’s lived in one place in his entire life, and his apartment is thoroughly cluttered. It takes them a few days to pack Sam’s place and then clean it out.

“Never thought I’d feel sorry saying goodbye to this place,” Sam comments as they stand in the living room, which is spotless except the stack of boxes by the door. “But I kinda am.”

“I know what you mean,” Steve says, thinking back to some of the ratty little apartments he’d lived in before the war. “It’ll pass, though.”

Sam laughs. “Yeah,” he agrees. “We’re moving on to bigger and better things, aren’t we? Come on, lend me your super strength and we’ll get these boxes loaded.”

 

Turns out if anything is worse than packing, it’s unpacking. Okay, that’s not true - it’s kind of fun to figure out where to put everything, but it becomes tedious after about the tenth box and by the time they realize that their bedding is still in a box somewhere and they have to either find it or sleep without it, the shine has sort of worn off.

“I never think this part is going to take as long as it does,” grouses Sam, hunting through his bags for his toothbrush. “Next time, remind me to unpack all the important shit first.”

“Deal,” says Steve. “Although I’m kind of hoping there won’t be a next time for quite a while. This is really…. quite the process.”

“Fair,” says Sam. “Ugh, and we don’t have Internet or anything set up yet either.” He sighs loudly. “Wanna play a board game? I did unpack that box. Priorities.”

“Sure,” agrees Steve. While Sam sets up RISK, Steve texts Natasha.

“Hey Nat. We got a new place and are getting moved in. 3 bdrms, 2 bath. U should come see it next time you’re in the area.”

She texts back quickly.

“Sure,” she says. “Send me pics?”

He texts her some pictures and then they start the game.

 

When she comes over the next day, pizza in hand, it’s to an apartment that’s still largely unpacked. There is an attractive looking stack of boxes in one corner, although they’ve mercifully fished out the bedding, and their game of RISK spread all over the living room floor.

“Are you guys almost done?” she asks interestedly, studying the board. “I wanna play next round.”

“Next round?” Sam groans. “That one took like, six hours.”

They end up playing until three in the morning. Nat wins.

 

Bucky knocks on Sam’s door three weeks after the day they move into the new place; Steve is the only one home, and he opens the door and simply stands there for a split second, shocked.

“Hey,” says Bucky, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. “I -”

“Can I hug you?” Steve asks, immediately looking like he wishes he hadn’t. Bucky’s mouth drops open in surprise, and then he considers it for a moment; then he laughs quietly.

“All right, then,” he says, and Steve immediately steps forward and wraps his arms around him.

It’s different than it was, and somehow exactly the same. Steve is warm and familiar and Bucky can tell that he’s trying his hardest not to cling too hard. He’s trying to make this about Bucky, even though he’s the one that asked.

The effort is lost when Bucky reels him in closer, buries his nose in the soft cotton of his shirt and just breathes. 

Things aren’t okay, but this is good. Holding Steve is good. 

They pull away, reluctantly, but Steve leaves a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Come inside?”

Bucky only hesitates for a second before stepping over the threshold, and Steve is infinitely grateful that they’ve finished unpacking and that the place is tidy. It’s not like Bucky’s never seen his place a mess before, it’s just….reassuring.

“The kitchen’s right here,” he says, “and you can help yourself to anything in the fridge. Um, bedrooms down the hall, and a bathroom too, and this is the living room.”

“Nice place,” says Bucky in a small voice. Steve looks at him fondly. 

It’s easily five times the size of their old place back in Brooklyn. Steve still remembers telling Bucky that it was nice when they moved into the one bedroom together. Still remembers Bucky scouting for days trying to find just the right place between the docks and the school so Steve didn’t have to walk as far in the winter. He remembers telling Bucky how nice it was, and Bucky correcting him. 

Bucky always seemed to know just what to say. 

“It’s your place, too,” he says. “If you want it to be. Or not,” he adds. “I don’t mean to…. It’s a standing offer.”

“Thanks,” Bucky says, with a small smile. “Um. Yeah. That would be nice.”

Steve practically beams at him, obviously relieved. “Well,” he says, “I’ll show you your room, then. Right now it’s pretty basic, but we can decorate it if you want.”

 

Bucky isn’t as interested in interior design as Steve is, but he humors him as Steve babbles on about paint colors and the possibility of getting curtains for his window. Steve’s telling him how nice he thinks blue curtains would look - because really, what the fuck else do they have to talk about? - when Bucky interrupts him and says, “So, are we going to talk about how the last time we saw each other, I shot you three times and you nearly died?”

Steve startles, wide-eyed. “No?” he says, but it’s a question. “You also saved me from drowning.” At Bucky’s look, he adds, “Yes, I know that was you.”

Bucky is silent.

“I mean, we can talk about it if you want,” Steve says, looking pained, and Bucky shakes his head.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he says. Steve nods.

“Okay, well, um, there’s towels in the bathroom if you want to take a shower. And I can get you an extra set of clothes. At least, until we can go shopping.”

Bucky shakes his head. “You can say I stink, Rogers,” he says, but his voice is flat and he doesn’t look at Steve as he heads to the bathroom.

“I’m gonna… I’m gonna go make lunch,” Steve decides, saying it loudly in the direction of Bucky’s retreating back so he’ll hear. He doesn’t answer.

 

He doesn’t come out to lunch, either. When Steve finally - after several hours of stomping in the urge - approaches the door to his room to check on him, he’s curled up on top of the covers, fast asleep.

Steve puts lunch in the fridge.

 

As soon as lunch is put away properly - Steve hates to waste food - he texts Natasha. His hands are shaking; its like he’s finally been hit with the enormity of what's happening. Bucky is here; Bucky, who he thought was dead for three years, is here in his house and he’s sleeping in his guest room. He sits on the couch and closes his eyes for a moment, tries to take a deep breath, then flips open his phone to text Natasha.

“Nat,” the text reads. “He’s here. He just knocked on the door and asked if he could come in. Holy shit.”

Sometimes Natasha can be hard to get ahold of, but bless her, she sure texts back quickly when it’s important. 

 

“”Is he okay?”

Steve considers the answer to that for a minute before responding. “Yes,” he says. “Been asleep for about a half an hour. He’s unhurt, seems all right, hasn’t talked much.”

There’s not much more to say than that at this point - Bucky seems reserved, quiet, maybe even afraid, but that’s only to be expected, right? Steve doesn't know what to expect. He’s just so, so grateful that Bucky’s here. Bucky came here, voluntarily.

“Do you need help?” comes Nat’s response. Steve considers that too, before texting her back a simple “No thanks. I think we’re good.”

They are good, as far as he can tell. Bucky is sleeping and there’s food in the fridge, so all there really is left for him to do is wait for Bucky to wake up or Sam to get home.

He texts Nat again. “But maybe you could keep texting me or something? I’m… a little stressed out tbh.”

Natasha challenges him to a game of Words with Friends, and that keeps them both busy for a while. So busy that Steve forgets to be nervous about what’s going to happen later.

 

Natasha is worried, and she thinks she has every reason to be so. If Steve's nervous enough to admit that he’s stressed out, then she’s worried about him. Even though he can probably take care of himself - she can’t quite help it.

They’re on their fifth game of Words with Friends when Clint comes back from the store. She’s creaming him, but he’s keeping up a steady stream of shit talking that’s keeping the game interesting. Steve Rogers never did know when to back down from a fight, and silly games between friends are apparently no exception.

“Hey,” he says, hefting the grocery bags up on the counter. He’s leaving again tonight, but he’s great about stocking the place before he goes. She thinks it’s some sort of apology for being gone so much, but who knows. “How’s it going? I thought you hated that game,” he says, gesturing to her phone.

She shrugs. “Barnes turned up today,” she tells him. “He’s sleeping, but Steve’s a little stressed out.”

“Holy shit,” Clint says, then adds, “So you thought a little friendly competition with the Black Widow was the thing to lower his blood pressure? Really, Nat?”

Nat shrugs smugly. “It seems to be working,” she tells him. “Even though he’s lost every single game.”

“He’s a stronger man than I,” says Clint, putting groceries away just where Natasha likes them. “So, what’s the scoop on Barnes?”

Natasha shrugs again. “Not much to tell at this point, she says. “Steve says he came in of his own volition and he’s napping right now. Things seem…. okay.”

“Hm,” says Clint. “Well, that’s interesting.”

“Yes, it is,” agrees Natasha. “I think I’ll drop by for dinner. See for myself.” When Clint rolls his eyes, she says, “Oh, come on. You really think I could stay away? This is the most exciting thing that’s happened all month. Besides,” she adds in a more serious tone, “I’m a little worried about Steve.”

“Okay,” Clint says. “I’ve gotta finish packing and my flight leaves in two hours, so give them my regrets or whatever.” He pecks her cheek on the way to their room, where a pile of his clothes are still laying on the bed.

“Next time, don’t leave your packing till the very last minute!” She shouts after him. It’s futile, but it doesn't stop her from saying it anyways.

 

Sam comes home before Bucky wakes up.

“Hey, Steve!” he says loudly, so that Steve will be able to hear him from anywhere in the house. Steve can hear rustling noises from the living room, which means Sam’s been to the grocery store, and he hurries to the kitchen.

“Sam,” he says, low and urgent. “Um. Can you keep it down?”

“What?” Sam asks, frowning, and then he realizes. “Oh, my god. Okay. He’s here?”

“Yeah,” says Steve. “Sleeping. Or at least, he was.”

 

“Shit.” Sam rubs the back of his neck and winces. “Sorry. Hope he’s not cranky.” And then he goes back to unpacking groceries like having Bucky Barnes sleeping in his no longer a guest bedroom is an everyday occurrence. “You fed that boy a solid meal yet?”

Steve shakes his head. “I made lunch,” he says, “but he’s been asleep for hours.”

“All right then, come here and help me with this. You might not know how to cook, but at least you can chop vegetables.”

 

Bucky wakes up when Sam comes home - of course he does - but chooses to stay in his room.

 

Natasha shows up right about when dinner is ready; neither Sam nor Steve had even known she was in town. Last they’d heard, she’d been on her sabbatical of sorts with Clint..

“Evening, fellas,” she says, leaning against the door frame, head tilted suggestively. “Either of you know where a girl might get a bite to eat around here?”

Sam grins at her, brandishing a spatula. “You have excellent timing,” he tells her. 

“I know,” she says innocently.

 

“So,” she says, following them back into the kitchen. “I hear you’ve got a third roommate these days.” As though she doesn’t already know.

“Well, just as of today, yeah,” Steve says. He’s chopping red peppers to go into the salad and doesn’t dare divert his concentration. It doesn’t help him escape from Natasha’s searching glance.

“Hmm,” is all she has to say on the matter; instead, she reaches for the cutting board and steals a pepper to nibble on.

 

“So, how was your vacation?” Sam asks her conversationally. putting the bread in the oven.

“Relaxing,” she says, smiling sincerely. “For Clint, too. I got caught up on sleep for the first time in about ten years, spent some quality time with Netflix, and learned to bake cookies. It was a nice change of pace.” After a pause, she adds, “Oh, and Clint’s fine, too. His ankle healed up and he’s out of the country at the moment.”

None of them ask what he’s doing; instead, the conversation changes to what they should have for dessert.

Natasha is arguing vehemently in favor of ice cream sundaes when Bucky steps into the kitchen, hair sleep-tousled and wearing Steve’s sweats. They’re somewhat too long for him and pool around his bare feet. Everyone is silent for a split second before Sam says, “Hey, you’ve got great timing. Dinner should be ready in five,” and then the chatter starts up again. Natasha nods at him by way of greeting and launches straight back into, “Sam Wilson, if you don’t think ice cream sundaes are one of the best things humankind has ever invented, then I don’t think we can be friends.”

Bucky’s mostly silent throughout all of this, but once Sam has given up and agreed that ice cream sundaes are a good idea, he agrees in small voice.

“What have you got for toppings?” Nat asks, opening Sam’s fridge to inspect the contents. She shakes her head sadly. “Sam, this is sad,” she says. “We need more than just chocolate sauce to make proper ice cream sundaes.”

 

This results in an impromptu trip to the convenience store down the street; they come back with a shopping bag full of sprinkles, gummy bears, a jar of maraschino cherries, and lemon drops, at Nat’s insistence.

Nat’s not sure the cashier will ever recover from the shock of seeing the four people who made a mess of DC just a few months ago walk into the store and buy a bag of candy.

They set up every topping they can think of on the kitchen counter; Bucky decides that maraschino cherries are disgusting, but he eats half of Natasha’s bag of lemon drops without even putting any on his ice cream. She lets him without a word.

 

Bucky sleeps for long periods of time. 

It’s not a big deal. In fact, it’s probably good for him. Steve is glad that he feels comfortable enough to sleep in the house. And, maybe he misses a few meals because of late mornings or afternoon naps, but it’s not a big deal. Sam always makes more than enough and Steve always covers whatever they had and leaves it out for when Bucky wakes up. 

The problem is, it seems like Bucky sleeps for almost a whole week straight, and then doesn’t know what to do with himself when he’s wound up tighter than a clock. This has led to a string of allnighters Sam has declared as the bane of his cable bill.

Steve used to sleep an okay four hours before DC. Now, he’s lucky if he gets an hour of fitful tossing and turning before dropping off. 

A week or so into their new arrangements, Steve gives up any hope of sleep after half an hour of staring at the ceiling. 

Bucky is folded into one of the recliners facing the TV. The volume is turned off, but the captions are rolling across the bottom of the screen. Steve wouldn’t have known it was even on except for the lights flickering under the gap between the floor and his bedroom door. 

For a minute, it’s like before. Before the war, before everything. It’s just like Steve heard Bucky come in the apartment after staying late at work and trying to be whisper quiet about it so as not to wake Steve up. 

Steve sits on the couch, and blinks at the screen trying to parse out the words and match them to the characters. 

“Natasha said Disney kept making movies.”

Steve grins. “One of the better parts of the future. Come on, Sam has a whole stack of them.”

 

 

The only reason Steve hears the strangled yell coming from the next room over is because he’s still awake, staring at the ceiling. It startles him; he sits upright and listens, but doesn’t hear anything else until he catches the soft creak of the door opening a few minutes later. So he wasn’t mistaken. He stretches for a moment, then gets out of bed and opens his own door.

The light’s on in the kitchen and he can hear the tap running, so he tiptoes through the living room and leans against the door frame, clearing his throat to let Bucky know he’s there.

Bucky jumps and turns to face him, nearly spilling the glass of water he’s holding, then quickly averts his gaze.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” Steve reassures him, reaching for his own glass of water. “I was up.”

Bucky raises his eyebrows. “It’s three in the morning,” he points out, glancing at the clock on the stove. Steve shrugs.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he admits,

“That happen often?” Bucky asks.

“Yeah,” Steve admits. Then he asks, “Do you have nightmares often?”

Bucky stiffens, and Steve thinks he isn’t going to answer before he says, “yeah.” Steve notices the way his hands are shaking and the faintest sheen of sweat on his forehead.

“You’re quiet,” Steve observes as he shakes some ice cubes out of the tray for his water. “Pretty sure the first time I woke up from a nightmare, I woke up half my apartment building.”

Bucky huffs out a tiny little laugh. “Not gonna make many friends that way, Steve,” he points out wryly. Steve shrugs.

“I’ve never been good at making friends anyways, you know.” He takes a sip of his water, then stretches. “I’m not sure I’m gonna get any sleep tonight anyways,” Steve tells him, pretending he hasn’t noticed. “Wanna stay up? We could watch something.”

“Okay,” Bucky agrees, following Steve to the living room, where he curls up in the recliner like an overly watchful house cat.

Steve puts on a Disney movie from the top of the stack and takes the sofa, tossing all the extra pillows onto the floor and wrapping himself in both of Sam’s blankets.

“Guess we’ve upgraded,” says Bucky quietly. “No need to put couch cushions on the floor.” Steve doesn’t respond, so Bucky looks over and sees that he’s already asleep.

 

Sam finds the both of them in the morning, still fast asleep well past the time Steve would usually be up and going on a run. Steve is drooling on his couch cushion and hogging all the blankets, but both of them look more peaceful than Sam has ever seen them and he’ll count that as a win.

 

“So,” Steve says to Bucky later that afternoon. “I’m still working on how to decorate the place, and I’ve got a list going, but I was wondering - is there anything you’d like to do to your room?”

He’d already put in a request for blackout curtains, but Steve’s thinking more decorative.

Bucky considers it for a moment. “Why don’t you paint something?” He says finally. “The lease allows that, right?”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “I was figuring we’d paint it, but what color?”

“No,” says Bucky im patiently. “I mean like, paint something.” He waves his hand lazily. “Art.”

“Oh,” Steve looks surprised, then thoughtful. “Well, I could probably do something like that. Anything in particular in mind?”

Bucky shrugs. “Not really,” he says. “I don’t care that much about having curtains that match my bed, but I think I’d like some of your art.”

The tips of Steve’s ears turn pink. “I’m a little out of practice,” he says, and Bucky just shrugs again.

“So practice,” he tells him.

This necessitates a trip to both the hardware store and the art store.

 

“Look what the cat drug in.” 

“That’s clearly a dog, Steve.” Bucky says seriously. 

Clint drops his duffel next to the door while Lucky plunks himself at Steve’s feet. Sam just stares at Lucky for a long moment, mouth hanging open slightly.

“That is a dog,” he says. “My lease doesn’t allow for dogs.” He glances at Steve and Bucky, neither of whom seem perturbed.

“Bribe your landlord,” suggests Clint. “Works like a charm on me.” He’s already settling his chipped coffee pot on Sam’s counter. “By the way, the dog’s name is Lucky.”

“Wait,” says Sam. “Back up a second. Are you saying you’re somebody’s landlord?”

“Yep,” says Clint, scratching Lucky behind the ears. “Got a building in Bed-Stuy. I’m a pretty shit landlord though.”

“So, uh,” Sam starts, “If you own a building… why are you here with a duffel bag? I mean,” he clarifies, “it’s cool and all, I’m just. Confused.”

Clint shrugs. “All my info’s out in the world, dude,” he says. “including where I live, which is a bummer since it keeps getting me beat up. Speaking of which,” he winces, “do you have a first aid kit?”

“I did not sign up for this,” Sam mutters as he heads towards the bathroom. “I swear, if you need a doctor I’m making you-”

“He’s fine,” says Natasha, appearing at Clint’s elbow and standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “He’s had worse. And you should see the other guys, after I was done with them.”

She’s carrying a duffel bag of her own, but she’s been building up a stash of things in Steve’s dresser, so no one is particularly fooled into thinking that she’s traveling light. She smiles at the four of them, including Sam as he approaches with first aid kit in hand.

“Well, close the door,” she says to Steve. “And bring that over here,” to Sam, “so we can fix Barton’s face.”

“My face is fine,” says Clint, but it’s a token protest considering that his nose looks broken.

 

Nat sits Clint up on a barstool and stands between his legs in order to carefully spread ointment over the scrapes on his cheek while Sam, Steve, and Bucky crowd around them. Setting his nose had been the worst part, but Steve had steadied him with a hand on his shoulder and the worst was over.

Sam hands him a glass of water and some ibuprofen, which he takes. He pops the pills and swallows them dry, only following with a few sips of the water. Sam grimaces, but doesn’t say anything.

“So,” says Clint, gesturing at the kitchen around them. “This is a nice place you’ve got.”

“We just moved in a few weeks ago,” Sam tells him. “Brand spankin new, and it’s got a view too. It’s been a good place.”

“It only has three bedrooms,” Nat points out.

“I’ll take the couch,” says Clint immediately. “I sleep on my couch like half the time anyways.” Nat shoots him a dirty look, and he shrugs. “I’m late to the party, I don’t mind taking the couch.”

“Well,” says Steve slowly, “each of those three rooms has a double bed in it. So… it would be possible for no one to sleep on the couch.”

The five of them exchange awkward glances for a few seconds, no one wanting to make the first move.

“Does Lucky count as one of those six sleeping spaces, or,” Clint asks.

“No,” says Natasha forcefully, and that breaks the tension as everybody laughs. 

“Bucky and I can bunk together,” offers Steve. “I mean, we used to live together anyways, so it’s not like we’re not used to being in each other’s personal space.” 

“Great,” says Bucky sarcastically. “I thought those days were over. The serum didn’t cure you snoring. If anything it made it worse.”

“Great, so Nat can room with Sam and me and Lucky will take the third -”

“No,” reiterates Natasha. “You and I are sharing, Barton. At least for now,” she adds, shooting Sam a flirtatious glance. Clint whistles, grinning.

“Wait, I’m confused,” says Steve, glancing between Clint and Sam. “I thought you and Clint were, uh. A thing, Nat.”

“We are,” Nat reassures him airily. “Just not an exclusive thing.”

“I share well,” Clint tells Steve in a confidential tone. Steve’s eyebrows approach his hairline.

“Oh,” he says.

“Oh,” Sam says.

 

Rearranging everyone doesn’t take long; Steve simply moves his relatively few personal possessions into Bucky’s room, leaving his for Nat and Clint. It is decided - by Sam’s decree - that Lucky has to sleep in Nat and Clint’s room, and if he wakes Sam up in the middle of the night for any reason short of the house burning down, so help them all.

“My lease does not allow for dogs,” Sam reiterates, staring mournfully at Lucky as Clint sets him up with a food and water bowl in the kitchen. “If my landlord kicks us out, it’s all your fault.”

“Relax,” Clint tells him. “I’m a landlord. Also I’m an Avenger and I’m pretty sure your landlord is not going to evict Captain America or the Falcon. That would be bad for PR. Also, evicting the Black Widow would be bad for his health possibly. Probably.”

“What about evicting Hawkeye?” Sam asks, amused. Clint shrugs.

“I dunno,” he says. “Guess I’d just go back to my old building and hope the people who keep beating me up have moved on.” 

“Well, that seems effective,” Sam mutters, shaking his head. 

Clint wanders out of the kitchen, Lucky trailing behind him. Sam’s standing in front of the fridge, considering a late night snack, when Natasha wanders in.

“Hey,” she says, coming to stand next to him. “Anything good in the fridge?”

Sam shakes his head. “No,” he says mournfully. “I’m the only one around here who can cook.”

“Clint can cook,” Natasha supplies helpfully. “The trick is getting him to. It’s a big trick. Maybe two tricks. He eats a lot of pizza.”

“Can you cook?” Sam asks hopefully.

“If I say yes, will you make me cook? Then the answer is no,” she tells him. He groans aloud.

“Fine,” he says, throwing up his hands. He grabs the apple juice out of the fridge and pours himself a glass.

“Want some?” he offers it to her, but she shakes her head. 

“No thanks.”

“So,” he says, sipping his apple juice like a goddamn adult, “what we were talking about earlier, with you and Clint, ah…”

Nat grins at him. “We have what you’d probably call an open relationship,” she explains. “We’re both free to see other people, and we occasionally do threesomes. With other women,” she adds. “Clint’s straight.”

“So,” Sam asks, “when you say see other people, do you mean just sexually? Or as in, a relationship?”

Nat shrugs. “Either,” she says. “I can’t say I’ve really bothered pursuing any other relationships - understandably, not that many people are into it, and I just…. haven’t been interested. But it would certainly be a possibility.”

“So,” Sam says, “do you believe it’s really possible for one person to genuinely, truly be in love with more than one person?”

“I think I do,” Nat says, slowly.

“Do I ask you to coffee, or is that a little mundane for people who saved the world six months ago?”

“Coffee?” come Clint’s voice from the living room.

“You’re not invited,” Natasha shouts back. “You don’t even like coffee shop coffee, all you drink is that cheap ass name brand swill. Don’t mind him,” she says to Sam. “He’s just being an ass. On purpose.”

“Is that a yes?” Sam asks.

She smiles at him. “Yes,” she says. “Tomorrow morning.”

 

Much later that night, when Sam is laying in bed, not quite asleep, his door drifts open and then a heavy weight settles next to him in bed.

“Goddammit,” he mutters, reaching out to pet Lucky before rolling over and going back to sleep. He’s just happy there’s no licking.

 

Thankfully, Sam scoped the area out weeks ago for good coffee shops. It’s a great excuse to get out and wander around without taking off too far in case either of the dynamic duo needs anything. 

They both serve great coffee, but the one he’s been frequenting the most has the best staff, and the nicest view and the cashier has maybe recommended a few of their baked goods. 

“The Little Spoon?” Natasha says. “Really?”

Sam holds the door open because his mama raised him right, even if the person he’s taking out is a super spy that could put him down in under thirty seconds. “Trust me on this one.” 

“You only get one of those you know.”

“One of what?”

“‘Trust me.’” Natasha narrows her eyes. “If the coffee here is shit you don’t get to pick again. Barton’s played me too many times on that end.”

 

“Nat and Sam, sittin’ in a tree. K - I - S- S - I - N - G. First comes love -”  
Clint’s cut off with a yelp when Nat throws a shoe at his head; she misses, but it’s a near thing and Clint is forced to dodge.

“Hey,” he says. “Not fair. My code name is Hawkeye, not yours. Stick to shocking people.”

“Are you saying that you’re the only person here who’s allowed to throw things at people, and that you want me to tase you instead?”

“No. No, I am not saying that.”

“Good. I didn’t even hit you Barton, stop whining.”

Steve wanders into the living room, completely oblivious to the imminent bloodshed.  
“So, how was your date?” he asks conversationally. Sam and Nat exchange a conspiratorial glance.

“It was excellent,” Sam tells him, trying not to grin like a teenager with a prom date.

 

So Sam and Nat become a thing, and sometimes Lucky gets sexiled back to Clint’s room, and that’s okay.

 

“I call riding in the cart!” Clint calls across the entry. 

Sam rolls his eyes, looking for more sane company. Steve and Bucky are still standing just past the sliding doors just staring. 

“It never gets old.” Steve says quietly, flyer in hand. “Look at this five kinds of bread on sale. Five. And that’s just the stuff on sale.”

“I didn’t even know they made apples that color.” Bucky says, deadpan. 

Sam can’t tell if he’s serious or not, but if he doesn’t laugh, he’s going to cry. Clint has already tried to park his ass in one of the shopping carts only to be thwarted by Natasha pinching his ear and ordering him in short words in a language Sam doesn’t know. 

He looks chastened, though, so Sam suspects it was probably a threat to his store brand coffee. 

They each have a list, and Sam has been appointed the designated cart driver. Natasha is the handler on this particular op, making sure everything that makes it in the cart is list approved. 

Sam had nightmares about opening up the cabinets and finding nothing but fruit loops. 

Steve and Bucky break off, heads bent together over their list. Steve points at the signs above the aisles and Bucky is nodding along with a serious look on his face. Sam has no doubts that everything on their list will come back without a problem. 

He’s so wrong. 

“We’re on a budget.” It’s not a big deal or a sticking point or anything, it just feels good to argue the point. The point of the list is order and instruction and not this.

“Bulk is cheaper.” Bucky says seriously. He’s holding what looks like a five pound jar of pickles while Steve crosses his arms over his chest. Natasha is glaring at both of them and pointing at the list. Sam cannot believe his life has come down to arguing over bulk pickles with super soldiers. 

“Fine, fine. But you’re making the room in the fridge for the huge-ass jar.” 

Bucky smirks and sets the jar in the cart while Natasha continues to glare. 

If shopping is a battle, checkout is hell. The overworked, frazzled cashier is taking a verbal lashing from a customer three carts in front of them, complete with coupon waving and angry pointing. It’s the kind of humdrum, daily awful Sam never understands. 

“Hey, Steve.” 

Steve glances up from frowning at the tabloids with Tony Stark’s face. There’s quite an array. Natasha was reading one, but now it looks like she’s crept her way to the front of the line to get between the counter and Coupon Waver. Clint still hasn’t shown up - like, at all - and Sam’s scanning the area, trying to decide if they should leave him, or wait, but he can sense Bucky’s got something up his sleeve on this one and while he’d tuned out the candy bar discussion ten minutes ago, he’s definitely listening now. “Yeah?”

“Looks like we’re at...” Bucky deadpans. “The end of the line.”

It’s silent for half a second before Steve tips his head back and laughs until he starts to tear up. The line is moving and the joke doesn’t ring any immediate bells but Sam is too busy watching Bucky crack a smile at Steve busting a gut to even give a damn. 

 

Steve and Bucky are getting ready to go to bed later that night when Bucky pauses, stops rummaging through the dresser in search of pajama pants, and turns to look at Steve.

“What do you think about… about Sam and Nat and Clint?” he asks, with an air of puzzlement. Steve lowers his book.

“What do you mean, what do I think about it?” he asks as he carefully dogears the page and closes the book, setting it aside.

“I mean,” Bucky wrinkles his nose, thinking. “I mean, do you think that it’s really possible for someone to be in love with more than one person at once?”

Steve considers his answer for a moment, and then says, “Yeah, I do.”

“And you don’t think it’s weird or anything?” Bucky presses him. Steve shrugs.

“Not really,” he says. “I don’t see how loving people is a bad thing, whether it’s friends or family or - well, you get the idea. I guess if it works for them, I don’t know why anyone should care.”

“Hmm.” Bucky goes back to looking for pajama pants and grabs a pair - seemingly at random, since it completely clashes with his t shirt - and straightens up again, looking at Steve with the pajamas clutched to his chest.

“Would you ever do something like that?” he asks.

Steve’s silent for too long. He finally says, “Yeah, Buck. I would, if the right situation came along.”

 

Steve’s staring at the wall. 

Bucky’s pretty sure he knows what’s going on because Steve’s response to the easy shoulder bump as Bucky passed by was a soft hum instead of actual words. 

Bucky’s not worried - he went about his business, made coffee, settled in to wait and watch - but Sam’s new to the game and he keeps making up excuses to walk past. The funny part is that Bucky knows exactly how he feels, and instead of wanting to keep this thing between the two of them, he sort of wants to share it. With Sam. 

He’s secretly happy that Steve has surrounded himself with people who genuinely care about him. It settles something in his chest that’s been awake and flickering wildly since he picked Steve out of the first of many alleys. So, on Sam’s third pass through the kitchen, Bucky catches the hem of his shirt and tugs just a little. 

“Stop it.” Bucky whispers not unkindly. “You’re distracting him.”

“Oh.” Sam says like he gets it, but his expression tells a completely different story. 

Bucky doesn’t know how to explain. “Just… wait for it.” 

Steve tilts his head to the right just a bit and Bucky can almost see the small frown as he settles his hands on his hips and takes a step back from the wall. Long hours of watching Steve before the war means Bucky knows exactly when he’s got it. It’s subtle, but the tense line of his shoulders relaxes just so, and Steve nods to himself, or maybe to the wall, Bucky’s not really sure on that one. It’s a Steve thing, like tea and that terrible blanket he had that was so itchy Bucky didn’t know how he could stand to be wrapped up in it. 

Steve goes into their room and comes back out with a container and plunks it on the side table Natasha had brought from who knows where. Bucky instantly knows it’s gonna be good because Steve is rummaging through the supplies and inspecting each item like he’s on a mission. 

“Okay, I’ll bite.” Sam says, shaking his head. and Bucky really likes this guy. He’s remarkably fast on his feet, and damn near unflappable. “What’s going on with Steve?”

“He’s gonna paint.” Bucky says softly. 

Sam digests that for a second as Steve makes a noise of triumph. He leans over, gestures for Bucky to come closer so he can whisper in his ear. 

“Not sure what my lease says about off the cuff murals.” 

Bucky pulls back, smirks at Sam. “Natasha was right. You’re mother hen and disapproving father in one shot.”

“Please. You need me to keep a roof over your heads and food in your belly. I don’t know how any of you survived this long.” Sam teases with a wide smile. 

Steve is mixing something together and setting things aside and finally getting down to whatever it is he’s going to do. 

“Thanks.” Bucky says, offhand and completely honest. 

“For what?”

Sam looks genuinely perplexed, and Bucky realizes he’s going to have to explain what he meant which is a whole new kind of terrifying. 

“For, you know.” And he gestures vaguely at Steve with a half shrug. “Everything.”

 

 

Sam wakes up one morning, goes to start coffee, and stumbles across a very serious discussion happening at the front door. 

In Russian. 

Natasha has her arms crossed over her chest and she’s as close to disapproving frown as Sam’s ever seen her be. Bucky is just inside the door, holding one of his boots up. 

“Everything okay?”

Natasha mutters something under her breath, and Bucky balks before firing something right back. 

“Okay.” Sam concedes - because he knows a couple of words in Russian, but he’s never going to keep up with them the way they’re arguing - and then adds on, “Please don’t kill each other in my new place, take it outside.”

“Tell ‘Tasha there is nothing wrong with my boots.” Bucky says, waving the left one around. 

Natasha rolls her eyes, following Sam into the kitchen. “They’re falling apart, kotyonok.”

“I just broke them in!” Bucky trails behind, one boot on, one boot in his hand. Sam catches himself before he laughs. 

Laughing would probably not go over well. 

He looks the one over that Bucky is holding, and can’t help but agree with Natasha. “They are looking a little rough.”

Bucky groans. “I’m not going shoe shopping.”

“Shoe shopping?” Steve asks from where he’s plunked himself at the counter. Sam passes him a cup and Steve’s smile almost makes him spill the creamer everywhere. 

Steve just smiles wider. Bastard. “Sounds like fun.”

Natasha at least hands over the keys before shooing them out the door. 

“I still think this is pointless.” Bucky grumbles from the backseat. 

“Is the sole still attached on the left one?” Steve asks as if he’s bored. He might be, traffic is sort of awful. Sam isn’t even getting to try out Natasha’s wheels properly. “Or did you glue it together again?”

Sam catches Bucky making a face at Steve in the rearview mirror. Steve makes a face right back. 

For a couple minutes, it’s like watching two kids joke with each other. Bucky even cracks a smile before he turns back to the window.

Ten minutes at the local shopping center and the line for the pretzel place is at least a mile long and while Steve is trying to decide what he wants, Bucky slips away with a quick nod to Sam. 

He comes back before they even make it to the counter, two boxes under his arm. He shrugs it off when Steve asks, like it wasn’t a big deal, but there’s something like newfound confidence in the way he’s standing. Like he passed one of his own tests. 

Sam buys him the biggest pretzel they have, and tries not to grin like an idiot on the way home. 

 

Steve notices the touching first. He’s not all that used to being touched in a friendly way, anymore, so the hand on his back in passing or the gentle tug on his arm catch his attention. Not in a bad way, not at all, it’s just… different.

It takes him about a week to catch onto how it’s deliberate. Sam’s a tactile guy, with people who are amenable to it, but not like this, not in the way where he takes any excuse to lean up against Steve, all warm and nice-smelling. It’s not fair, really. And then there’s the lingering glances - those are fucking unbearable.

“I may have been born in 1918,” he blurts out to Sam one afternoon when they’re in the kitchen, Sam attempting to teach Steve how to make a basic soup, “but I know what flirting is. And you’re doing it. Aren’t you seeing Nat?”

Sam bursts out laughing. “Yeah, Steve,” he manages in between chuckles. “I am.”

“And she doesn’t have a problem with it?”

“I’m encouraging it,” says Nat from where she’s leaning against the doorframe. Steve jumps, still not used to being snuck up on by her. He probably never will be.

He looks between the two of them, bewildered at first, and then understanding.

“Wait,” he says. “Really?”

“Really really,” confirms Nat, grinning at him.

“Is this coming from one of you, or both of you?” Steve crosses his arms, not sure which of them he should be making eye contact with.

“Both of us,” says Sam. “If you want,” he adds hastily. “Or just one of us, or neither. Up to you.”

“And what exactly is on the table here?” Steve demands. “Are we talking a - what’s it called, friends with benefits thing? Or a relationship? Or a one-time threesome? Or -”

“Sam and I were thinking more along the lines of relationship,” Nat cuts in smoothly. “But we certainly wouldn’t say no to a threesome.”

Steve just stares at her for a long moment.

“This is so surreal,” he finally says. “I mean, yes. But also, can I think about this? This is a lot to… take in. But I’m definitely interested.”

“No rush,” Sam tells him easily. “It’s a standing offer, for now. And just so we’re clear,” he says, “if you change your mind or decide you’re not interested, absolutely no consequences for our friendship. Okay?”

“Okay,” says Steve.

 

The only thing that makes sense for him to do is to talk to Bucky.

“They asked you what?” Bucky exclaims, staring at him incredulously.

“I told you,” says Steve crossly. “I’m interested. It’s just…. one thing to talk about doing it, and another thing to do it.”

“They didn’t invite me,” Bucky says mournfully. “I can’t believe it.”

Steve stares at him. “What?” he asks. “Do you want to be invited?” The tips of his ears are bright red, and suddenly Bucky is speechless.

“Would it be weird if I said yes?” he says, wrinkling his nose. “Yeah, that’s weird, never mind -”

“Hang on a second,” says Steve, reaching for his hand. “That’s not - really? I mean, you’re being serious?”

“Yeah,” says Bucky in a small voice.

“What?” exclaims Steve. “Oh my god.”

“What?” Bucky asks bewildered. Steve starts laughing.

“This is - the weirdest day,” Steve chokes out. “Tell me this isn’t a dream.”

“I can pinch you if you want?” Bucky offers tentatively. Steve shakes his head.

“Can I kiss you instead?” he asks. “Unless I’ve totally misread this situation -”

“Steve, shut the fuck up,” says Bucky, grabbing him by the shirt and pulling him in for a kiss.

 

“Bucky’s mad that you didn’t invite him to our threesome,” Steve announces over dinner. Clint chokes on his food; Sam stares, and Natasha just raises an eyebrow.

“Four makes a threesome an orgy,” she points out. Steve shrugs.

“I know,” he says. “But I talked to him about your, uh, offer, and I think we decided that we’re kind of a package deal. So, there’s that.”

Natasha exchanges glances with Sam, and then grins at the both of them. “Well, I guess that settles it,” she says, looking pleased with herself.

“I mean, more or less,” Sam interjects. “Poly relationships require a lot of communication so we should talk in more detail before we, uh, do anything, and everything is up for negotiation, but -”

Clint interrupts him by bursting out laughing. “You guys are fucking ridiculous,” he manages.

They exchange glances around the table, and then Sam shrugs. No one argues with him.

 

The only thing that really gets fucked up is the morning routine. 

Sam kisses Natasha as he hands her a mug and it’s just a peck, at first, until Natasha curls her fingers in Sam’s pocket and pulls him in for more and then it’s a challenge Sam can’t turn down. 

“You started without me.” Steve grouses from the hallway, arms crossed over his chest. He’s still in his pajamas, still warm and half asleep. Natasha didn’t think they were making any noise at all, but Steve’s hearing is incredible and he seems to have a sixth sense about these things. 

Natasha just barely breaks away from kissing Sam to turn around as she waves him forward. “Plenty to go around.”

Steve perks up, presses himself tentatively against Natasha’s back, and kisses her cheek. He’s nosing his way into her hair when Sam makes a noise.

“What?” Steve asks.

“Where’s mine?” Sam acts mock-affronted. 

“Impatient.” 

“I only want what’s coming to me.”

“Better kiss him, Steve.” Bucky says from the other room. “He’ll burn the eggs.”

Steve chuckles and attempts to meet Sam over Natasha. Attempt being the operative word because it’s awkward and while Natasha has no problem getting between them in certain situations, a Sam-Steve sandwich was not in the terms and conditions. 

She slips off the stool and gives them both breathing space without leaving them completely. 

Steve takes his chance, slots himself against Sam like he belongs there and kisses him long and sweet, Natasha’s hand in his hair. 

The immediate silence brings Bucky out to the kitchen and he meets Natasha’s eyes from the doorway with a fond expression. His bedhead is blackmail material.

 

Bucky takes his chance when Sam and Steve are out getting groceries. Clint is taking a nap, so he goes to find Natasha.

She’s in the kitchen, humming along to the radio and swaying a little as she chops vegetables. No one is still entirely sure whether or not she actually knows how to cook, but Bucky suspects that the answer is yes.

“Nat?” he says loudly, to get her attention.

“Hmm?” She sets aside her somewhat oversized knife and turns the radio down. 

“I have a question for you,” he admits. She smiles warmly at him.

“Well, ask it,” she says.

“I just… the whole, relationship thing. Um. Why did you - ah, this isn’t right. What I’m trying to say is -”

“Are you wondering why we approached Steve and not you?” she asks kindly. He’s turning red, something she’s rarely seen him do. He’s not a full body blusher like Steve.  
,  
“Um, yeah, sort of,” he says. “I get why you approached Steve, but were you ever going to ask me, or am I only…. part of this because Steve wanted me to be?”

Natasha comes to stand next to him and slips an arm around his waist. “Not at all,” she tells him, pressing a kiss to his cheek and resting the other hand just above the waistband of his jeans. “Sam and I both want you to be a part of this, too. We asked Steve first because he seemed more open to the idea, and we wanted to take it one step at a time, instead of asking both of you at once. Maybe it was a mistake.” She shrugs with one shoulder. “This is the first time either of us have done something like this, too.”

“I think it worked out okay,” says Bucky, leaning down to kiss her.

 

Steve finishes the mural in Bucky’s room on an otherwise ordinary Monday.

Well, it’s his and Bucky’s room now. The room arrangement stands, with some occasional shuffling around. Lucky gets sexiled to their room fairly frequently, but they don’t exactly mind. Steve likes having a dog around.

He pets Lucky’s head and Lucky wags his tail, threatening to tip over one of Steve’s little tubs of paint. Steve grabs it at the last second, then carefully shoos Lucky out of the room.

“Well?” he says, turning to Bucky and wiping his hands off on his jeans (which are already spattered with paint) unceremoniously. “What do you think?”

Bucky studies the mural intently for a few long moments, raising his hand as if to touch the still wet paint, only to pull it back at the last minute. The mural spans the entire wall opposite his bed; Steve used bright colors, butter yellow and peony pink and sunset orange and electric blue, and wide, confident brush strokes to create what Bucky could only describe as a kaleidoscope of colors and shapes across the wall.

“It’s beautiful,” he tells Steve, who grins.

“Really?” he asks, “because it’s my first time trying to paint something abstract.” He’s fidgeting, tapping his fingers against his thigh nervously. 

That just won’t do. Bucky walks over to him and leans up against him, resting his hands on Steve’s waist.

“Really,” he says. “It’s beautiful.” Steve’s hands come up to touch his back, and Bucky sighs contentedly.

Bucky tips his head up just a little so that he can kiss Steve, their lips meeting in a slow, warm press that leaves Bucky weak at the knees. Once they break apart, Steve resting his forehead against Bucky’s, Bucky leans into the solid, comforting presence of him and just breathes for a minute.

“Thanks, Steve,” he says. He can feel Steve chuckle, and Steve says, “don’t mention it,” and kisses his hair.

They stand like that for a long time, just pressed together. Then Steve’s stomach growls loudly, breaking the silence and Bucky bursts out laughing and steps back, patting Steve’s shoulder affectionately. 

“I guess we’d better find some food, Rogers,” he teases. Steve just looks sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously. 

“It’s about time for movie night anyways,” he says. “Come on, let’s go see if they’ve started fighting over what to watch yet.”

“Five bucks says Clint wins,” says Bucky, and Steve says, “To the contrary. Five bucks says Nat wins.”

They’re both wrong. Sam wins, after an intense few rounds of rock, paper, scissors.

 

Movie nights have become a regular thing for the five of them. Clint’s disinterest in the group’s other, more sexual activities do not mean he’s disinclined to cuddling and he’s _great_ at it, to the point where they sometimes fight over who gets to sit next to him because he’s always touching whoever he’s with, whether playing with their hair or giving a backrub or just absentmindedly running his fingers up and down their sides.

Nat has the honor tonight (like she frequently does) and they’re all settled in with popcorn and a movie (Sam’s pick). Too sleepy to move, they sit through the end credits..

“So,” says Steve when the screen finally goes black, shifting to a more comfortable position where he’s leaning against Sam. “What now?” It’s obvious that he isn’t talking about the end of the movie.

Sam’s hand stills in Bucky’s hair as he turns to look at Steve, distracted. But Natasha beats him to it.

“We keep doing what we’ve been doing,” she tells him, from where she’s sitting in Clint’s lap. “Just...with more,” she gestures idly with one hand, a sweep that encompasses the group of them, tangled together on the floor in front of the couch. “Cuddling?”

“With orgies on the side?” suggests Bucky, which earns him an eyeroll from Steve.

“Together,” Sam suggests. They all absorb that for a minute, before Natasha nods, smiling.

“Something like that,” she says.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! We can be found on Tumblr at [margaretrogers](margaretrogers.tumblr.com) and [leatherandlightning](leatherandlightning.tumblr.com).


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